


When the Captain gets pregnant

by BlastedHead



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, cause this author has no idea how to write crack fic, crack gone serious, slight Atlanna bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 21:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastedHead/pseuds/BlastedHead
Summary: What happens when the Captain of Men-of-War of Atlantis gets pregnant with the Prince of Atlantis' child...or children.





	When the Captain gets pregnant

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [當將軍懷孕時](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19895053) by [BlastedHead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastedHead/pseuds/BlastedHead)
  * A translation of [當將軍懷孕時](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19895053) by [BlastedHead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastedHead/pseuds/BlastedHead). 



> This started as a crack fic at the beginning of June but then went to a completely different direction. Some fluff, some crack, a bit of angst, 100% nonsense (at least in the author's lowly opinion).
> 
> Unbeta'ed, so do tell me if you find anything wrong.

<Beginning>

Everyone knows that there’s something more between King Orm and Captain Murk. They think that they left little hint, but even the blind can see that they are in a relationship in some way - no king ever held regular private meetings with his captain, no unmarried king ever allowed anyone to stay overnight in his chambers whether they were really talking about tactics or doing other stuff, no king ever brought a commoner but not his fiancée to noble events. Orm is a smart person, Murk is also a smart person, but when secrecy is concerned, their knowledge is zero.

That’s why no one is surprised by their engagement. OK, it might have surprised few people who wear heavy filters to every event, not that they count anyway. And Orm’s mother Atlanna too. Her problem, as expected, seems to be Murk’s occupation, and although no one confirmed the rumour, it is almost certain that they fell out. The man concerned expresses that he doesn’t care, and his action says that his priority is to bring home his Captain, thank you very much. Murk was kidnapped to his honeymoon before he can think too much.

Not keeping desires in check has its own consequences. The two talked about having children before their marriage and reached the consensus of going along the flow, but they never expected it to arrive this quickly.

OK, they may not be as smart as we think.

The two men, both who have gone through numerous battles, stare at the pregnancy test on the table like two idiots.

Orm: ‘Is that…’

Murk: ‘I believe so.’

And continue staring at the poor stick.

Murk: ‘Should we get tested for real?’

Orm: ‘Our holiday ends in one week.’

Murk: ‘It can be shortened.’

Orm: ‘Do you want to?’

The Captain meets his husband’s heated gaze.

Murk: ‘No.’

Orm has to refrain from burying too deep inside, but they still have very nice sex.

* * *

<Training · Part 1>

The first thing Orm does after returning to the capital is dragging Murk to the medical bay. The Captain says that he doesn’t want to attract people’s fucking attention, therefore Orm can only take care of the mess Arthur made when he was gone while waiting for his husband to return.

He receives the report from the doctor quick enough, but the person does not appear after a long time. Therefore he stretches and prepares to find his partner.

Turns out he does not need to, as mere seconds later he can hear rapid knocking on the door of his office. He certainly does not expect to see Mera barging in, nor does he expect her to bring news on his husband, but what surprises him the most is her expression, which is torn between helplessness and laughter.

‘You got to see what your husband’s doing right now,’ she manages to say between laughs.

Orm does not like the way Mera laughs at the best Captain in the world, after all it was her who cut off Murk’s left hand, but his curiosity wins against his anger, therefore he only asks, ‘Where is he?’

‘Training pitch. He dominates the place.’

So he set off to the place she mentioned. Before he arrives, he can already hear a mixture of, shouts, groans and the sound of weapons clashing against one another.

He is not shocked when he opens the door and a knife misses his face by a finger. No, certainly not. He is not sure who threw the knife, as everyone at the centre of the pitch is moving so fast right now. Or more accurately, _Murk_ is moving so fast that he takes out his opponents before they can react, and he is using only a practice blade while the others have the real ones out. Less than half a minute passed, and the Captain has beaten all of his opponents and ended the fight.

The audience does not cheer because Murk is already shouting for another group of opponents. Finally someone notices the Prince, and she probably wants the Captain out of that place by saying ‘Your Highness’ loud and clear while maintaining eye contact. Her plan works, with every single pair of eyes in the pitch, including Murk’s, immediately turning towards Orm.

Murk gets embarrassed easily, however Orm does not seem to have another choice.

‘We need to talk,’ he says to his husband. ‘Now.’

Murk swallows as his face turns pink, his fierceness gone to the Trench Kingdom. Letting go of his sword, he swims towards Orm and willingly holds his hand, which means the Prince is allowed to bring him away. Only the woman who started everything avoided looking at them.

Murk shoots straight into bed and buries his face in his pillow after they have arrived at their bedroom. Orm initially wants to coax him into at least getting a change of clothes, but then he catches the utter exhaustion on his husband’s face and body language, and he gives up the idea. Instead he lies down sideways next to the Captain and shakes him to keep him awake.

‘’m tired,’ is the muffled reply. ‘Dunno suddenly jus’ wanna beat the shit out of people.

‘And you did it, didn’t you?’ he continues running his hand up and down Murk’s arm.

The man with platinum-blond hair twists so that he can see his husband with one eye. ’You’re not angry?’

‘Why should I be?’

‘I might hurt the baby?’

Orm chuckles. ‘I believe you can protect yourself?’

Murk lowers his gaze as if thinking about the Prince’s question.

‘Does that mean I can continue beating people up?’

That makes the blond laugh again. ‘Of course. Just - don’t be too harsh on those newbies, can you? You seem to have scared them.’

‘I didn’t, but okay, I’ll pull my punches.’ And then closes his eyes.

The former king took some time to remember what he wanted to talk about with his husband at first. Right.

‘Murk?’

‘Hmm?’

‘When do you want to announce…your condition?’

‘You mean the baby?’

‘Are there anything else?’

‘…when I start showing?’

Orm quickly recalls the information he read before. That should be two to three months later, putting it at just about the same time with most royal families throughout history. Pregnancy symptoms may appear before that, but he does not care, that is what Murk wants. He will ask again tomorrow morning, because Murk is nearly asleep, and his brain is probably not awake enough.

‘All right.’

Quiet snores are his only replies. Correction: Murk is already asleep.

* * *

<Mail>

Turns out Orm Marius underestimates the strength of his Captain’s abs.

Three months have passed, and Murk still does not look a bit pregnant. No sickness, no bump, no change in appetite. The only thing which is not normal is his mood, which seems to have gotten worse since returning from the holiday, but since he spends most of his time training (read: beating the crap out of) newbies, no one except Orm himself notices.

Vigorous training creates capable soldiers, the survival rate of new recruits reaches a new high, so it should be a good thing, right?

Apparently not, if you ask the ones being beaten up.

At first it was just a few anonymous e-mails which Orm suspected were from the newbies. Then dozens more came, all from unfamiliar addresses. A month or so later, the Prince starts to recognise some of the senders, which finally brings him to read some of them.

‘Your Highness, I know training is good for us, but please can you tell Captain Murk not to beat us up every day? Some of my friends can’t even hold a spoon at dinner now.’

‘Your Highness, please teach us some new tactics to defeat Captain Murk, just for once?’

‘I know you’re reading this, Orm, so please do tell your man to refrain from picking on us. He nearly shattered our old bones.’

‘Are you guys having a row or something, cause Murk is so angry??’

For most of the e-mails, Orm copy-and-pastes the following reply: ‘Dear ___, your message has been forwarded to Captain Murk. If there is no change of situation, please inform me in a separate e-mail.’ As for the fourth aforementioned message, he replied: ‘If he was as angry as you imagined, that would not be my fault.’

Murk is never a talker, he still falls asleep stuck to Orm’s side every night, they still make love almost every two days; rowing couples don’t live like this, do they?

Murk returns with a large bag today. It is nearly half a man tall and would have been stuck at the door had Orm not helped him bring it in, and the Prince knows that both of them are equally confused.

‘What is this?’ he asks as his husband tries to place the bag onto the floor without the items within falling apart.

’They said my mailbox is full so I bring some of them in,’ Murk answers holding the mouth of the bag and frowns. ‘It’s strange because I don’t even know I have a mailbox.’

Every royal member has one, Orm wants to tell him. But explanations can wait. ‘Do you know whom they are from?’

‘I don’t know them.’

‘You can just return them directly.’

‘I know, but that will be impolite.’

Right. Orm always forgets that Murk didn’t come from a random family.

The Captain has already started opening a letter with a knife hidden in his clothes. The letter itself is not long, therefore he finishes reading it quickly. The Prince watches him from a corner of the sofa open letter after letter and then stacking them neatly in piles together, with opened parcels as paperweights. Sometimes Murk checks the date on the envelope again after reading, but since he has not made a sound yet, Orm does not ask about it. At last the bag becomes flat, Murk is staring at the mail he stacked up - he is finally finished.

‘Should I reply?’ he mutters to himself after a while.

‘Do you want to?’

‘I want to but I don’t want to.’

What does that even supposed to mean? ‘Why?’

‘These,’ Murk gestures to the letters, ‘are from the families of new recruits. They mostly thank me for keeping their children alive. That’s my job, so I guess I don’t need to write back. But I think I’ll return the parcels with an explanation. I don’t even like pickled oysters but more than half the parcels are them.’

‘You can always say that you cannot accept them.’

‘I know.’

He is still frowning, though, which means…

‘Something else bothering you?’

A nod.

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t think they’ll believe that I replied myself.’

‘Why?’

Here comes the blush again, and Orm feels bad for thinking it as adorable. Is _adorable_ even a suitable adjective to describe the Captain of Men-of-War?

‘I want pen and paper.’

Murk makes no intention to move, therefore the Prince guesses it is his job to get some. He grabs a stack of paper from his office (which is next door) and returns with a pen.

‘I just realised,’ he says as he places the stationery in front of his husband, ‘I have never seen your handwriting. You always signed your documents with a code.’

The Captain utters a ‘thank you’ and starts to write without commenting on Orm’s words, angling the paper so that the latter cannot see what he is writing. The blond earns a glare from him when he swims to get a better look at his handwriting, but as Murk does not tell him to go away, he can still openly hold his husband from behind and watch him write with his head on his shoulder.

Murk is right. His handwriting does not…quite fit his image. It is round, neat and is slightly doodly, like he is drawing a picture instead of really writing. No wonder why he doesn’t sign documents by hand.

‘It’s cute,’ he says before realising what the consequences may be.

Getting hit by a stack of paper never felt so painful before.

* * *

<Training · Part 2>

Since Murk established a schedule of ‘half-day training, half-day opening/replying letters’, Orm has received fewer e-mails, but that does not mean that they have stopped. Although there may be a smaller amount of people affected by his…mood swings, the severity of the trainings is still the same.

Murk’s pregnancy is in its fifth month. There are subtle and noticeable changes such as longer slumbers and a better appetite now, however he is still not showing, and the only things easing Orm’s worry are the scans, which shows that the babies are healthy and developing quite normally. Yes, you haven’t read it wrong: the Prince of Atlantis and his consort are expecting more than one child, or twins, to be precise. Turns out the other girl - yes, they are having girls, shut up - has been hiding behind her twin for four whole months, and she just stuck her foot under her sister’s arm during the last scan. It was also the first time Murk ever felt the babies’ movement.

Today, Murk sleeps until noon; after the discovery of the other little one, there always seems to be something pressing against his spine, which is a very unpleasant experience. He manages to drag himself to the training pitch after breakfast (he can’t do without it now) and starts warming up. Perhaps because it’s lunchtime, perhaps because there're other matters to attend to, there’re only a few people either practising on their own or sitting on the stone seats, with one of them being the woman who noticed Orm on the day Murk got his first test. She’s not here often, but she puts up a good fight whenever she is. She is also one of the rare people who can stand against him for more than a minute. As expected, she has the short spear again, and without asking him she swims down to the centre of the pitch.

The fight begins with a spin of her spear. Murk silently thrusts the practice blade towards his opponent, she easily ducks it and swings her own weapon upwards pointing at him. The Captain kicks his legs to swim backwards, resuming his attack when there is enough distance between them. Their weapons clash together; Murk at first wants to push his opponent forward through the momentum, but after all it is a sword against a spear, therefore she quickly gains the upper hand and nearly pushed _Murk_ into the seats. He swims away underneath her legs and hears her crash onto the stone benches. Cutting an arc in the water, he points his sword at her, prepared to finish the fight.

Time seems to slow down as sharp pain erupts from his back. It quickly spreads through the entire right side of his body, causing him to slow down and his grip on the blade to loosen, and he can only watch as his opponent turns, swings her spear, and hits his left shoulder with its dull end. The world spins, for a moment everything blends together, then he hits a soft patch -

Wait.

Strong arms hold him. Murk would have struggled had his back and left shoulder not been throbbing, and the voice next to his ear vanishes his will to fight.

‘Enough, Murk.’

Orm sounds pissed; whether it is directed towards him or his opponent, the pregnant Captain doesn’t know, but he is sure that he won’t be stepping foot on the pitch in a short period of time. His back goes into spasm once more, one of the babies kicks hard, and he falls limp in the Prince’s embrace. The woman he fought approaches them with Murk’s practice blade in her hand, the latter which Orm extends a hand to retrieve.

‘Your name?’ the Prince asks.

‘Rebecca. Others usually call me Becky.’ At this moment Orm starts to pull Murk away from the pitch. She shouts at his back, ‘The fight’s not yet over!’

* * *

<Announcement>

‘You know this is bound to happen, don’t you?’

They are back in their bedroom. Murk lies face-down with a torus-shaped pillow underneath his stomach, already in the middle of falling asleep again despite being up for less than two hours because the hands on his back are simply s _o fucking wonderful_. He can feel the days of stress in his muscles going away. A satisfied sigh escapes his lips, he holds the pillow supporting his head tighter, and Orm, that bastard, has the _nerve_ to stop. That earns the Prince a glare from his husband, but he only kisses the Captain’s temple and flops down next to him.

‘I can’t just do paperwork all day.’ Murk grumbles. ‘I don’t even have much of that to begin with.’

‘And so is fighting people for four hours straight every single day,’ Orm squeezes the pregnant man’s softening waist muscle and the latter screams and rolls off both his pillows, ‘non-stop.’

‘But fighting is one of the two things that I am good at and can relieve my stress!’ the Captain rolls back. ‘Thanks to our girls, I’m _very_ stressed right now!’

‘What are you stressed about?’

Whatever Orm’s reply is, this is not what Murk expected. Shit. He said things wrongly again.

‘It’s…not really that bad, I promise,’ he answers as he feels an arm being placed on his back. ‘It’s just…I feel like I’ll freak out the moment I stop moving. Simple. I don’t even feel pregnant before we found out about the second baby. Yeah. I think that’s all.’

His husband exhales and kisses him lightly. ‘Do you still want to beat people up, or do you want to…try the other method?’

‘Will you allow me on the training pitch?’

‘Not in the near future.’

‘Then I guess I’ll try the other one. But don’t laugh at me. Also, Orm?’

‘Yes, Murk?’

‘I think it is time to make the announcement. They’ve already seen me like this.’

‘Is that what you really want?’

‘Yes.’

‘Today?’

‘Can you?’

‘Yes.’

A yawn. ‘Today it is, then.’ Closes his eyes.

‘Don’t sleep yet. How do you want the announcement to be?’

‘Do you royals have anything special for this?’

‘No. We are only required to publish a short notice on the website.’

‘Good. Can I sleep now?’

‘Yes, Murk.’

Orm waits until Murk has fallen asleep. Planting a kiss on his husband’s cheek, he goes back to his office, logs-in to the official royal website, and types a few sentences. Knowing that his social media accounts are going to explode with messages, he switches off the computer and disconnects it from its power source. He also blocks his mother’s number just for extra measure.

Needless to say, his prediction comes true, and it is Arthur’s turn to receive dozens of calls from the former Queen of Atlantis.

* * *

<Sewing>

Ever since Orm announced Murk’s pregnancy on the official website, the Captains e-mail and mailbox were stuffed with apology letters, with their contents variations of ‘Captain I failed to notice that you’re expecting I didn’t hurt you do I please forgive me.’ He replied to all of them with the following message in one take:

‘As His Highness His Prince said, my babies and I are healthy. Also, I swept away most of you before you can touch me, so physical combat with you does not pose a threat to us.’

Still, no one dares to fight against their Captain again.

For those which congratulate them, he replied and thank them all himself, and those which were not so good went to permanent delete or the recycle; he handed the few threatening ones to his men and let them deal with those imbeciles. Parcels were still the most annoying ones, with most of them being supplements or items which the pregnant often use, but Murk himself doesn’t need them, therefore after picking a few to forward to his elder brother Fung whose baby is nearly due, the rest of the food went to the kitchen, and the supplies donated to charities. His brother-in-law thanked him in his letter, but he mostly talked about how Murk’s brother was doing then. ‘He is glad that you fare much better than him,’ he wrote. ‘He would have thanked you in person, but he has become too weak to speak. He still cannot stand anyone else apart from me in the same room with him, therefore I am afraid that visits are still not an option. Last time we checked, he weighed even less than before he has this baby. I understand nothing can cease your worries, therefore my only request is to take care of yourself and seek help if there is something wrong. Your brother WILL be furious if you do not.’

He has finally finished clearing his mailbox, so having fucking nothing else to do, Murk cries.

The pregnant Captain doesn’t know how long he has lain in bed afterwards, but it is long enough for him to remember Orm’s advise two weeks ago (he can’t believe that it took him this long to organise his mailbox), and he just feels good enough to be able to go out, therefore his mind decides that raiding the tailors' department is a good idea. His image will be ruined by the end of the day, that he is sure. But is the satisfaction piercing a blanket again and again worth it? Pregnant Murk says yes.

This is why our beloved Prince of Atlantis returns to his wing of the palace only to discover his husband scowling at a fluffy blanket covering his lap and most of the sofa. Around his feet are spools of thread, and Orm also notices that -

‘Are you sewing?’

He knows he sounded dumb, but for a few seconds he refuses to acknowledge what he is seeing. Murk? Captain of Men-of-War of Atlantis? Sewing?

‘My stupid - ’ a poke - ‘alternative - ’ a pull, another poke - ‘stress relief - ’ snaps thread with teeth - ‘method. Don’t get close!’ his tone is the one he uses to scold his men. ‘It’s nothing worth looking at. If you want to, sit there and look at me.’

Murk’s current aura is the same as the ones he wears when he was beating the crap out of newbies in the pitch, so Orm obediently moves all the work he needs to complete that day to the living room, claiming to work with his husband but actually carefully observing him and waiting for a chance to reduce the distance between them. The Captain has been in a foul mood lately, and he wants to know why.

In the end the day is filled with muttered curses and exasperated sighs, and that is why when Murk finally threw the needle to the other side of the room, it feels as if a lifetime has passed. What surprises him the most, though, is the look of utter defeat on his husband’s face.

‘What’s wrong, love?’

The other man only flings onto the sofa and covers himself with the blanket he has worked on for half a day, Orm’s eyes catching a colour that should not exist on it. He tries not to think of how long it will take to clean up all the needle and thread and documents on the floor and sits down next to his husband, touching where the patch of colour should be and feeling a scratch. Slightly lifting that corner shows a bush of seaweed growing in a crack between rocks.

‘It’s pretty,’ he praises whole-heartedly. ‘I don’t even know you can sew.’

‘It’s bad. You aren’t supposed to know,’ comes the muffled reply as Murk uncovers his eyes.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t even _like_ sewing!’ the mouth is uncovered. ‘Soldiers don’t do - ’ glares at his work - ‘this.’

‘What do they do, then?’

‘Of course they fight!’ the blanket is thrown aside. Then in a voice that borders on crying, ‘I’m not supposed to good at this. I’m sorry, Orm, I know this is not the man you married, I just - ’

The Captain on leave melts as soon as Orm holds him. A hand runs in silvery strands, a scarred face disappears into the crook of the Prince’s neck, and there are slow and soft pats on a strained back.

‘Something you did not show me before does not mean it does not exist.’ Murk’s dissatisfied sigh makes him laugh. ‘I still love you.’ After that he wraps the other man up in the blanket and carries him to the bedroom. Murk used to pretend to hate it whenever he got taken care of, but now he simply closes his eyes and leans his head against Orm’s shoulder. He’s tired. ’Don’t tell anyone,’ was the last thing he said before slipping away with his husband by his side.

* * *

<Tidying up>

After spending half a day informing Orm about his brother’s issue, Murk becomes increasingly agitated from not receiving any news from his in-law. Becky’s creative proposal settles the Captain into a new schedule which alternates between walking in the gardens and sewing.

‘These,’ the young woman said as she hands him a pair of smart glasses, ‘is connected to mine.’ Taps the pair she was wearing. ‘You can see the fight from my perspective. The mic and speakers allow you instantly tell me what to do.’

Not that he isn’t grateful for it, but Becky is a busy person, and her time spent in the pitch is limited. That gives him a lot of time to sew. His works are either horrible or good enough to remind him of a life he didn’t manage to control, but simply throwing them away seems like a waste (especially those which he spent at least half a day on), so all he does is putting them aside and pretends that they don’t exist.

That’s why he hates the speed he has.

The inevitable comes a month after his sewing frenzy was rekindled. Murk is, as usual, sewing in the living room when he hears an inhuman scream and the sound of something collapsing. He really wants to stand up and walk there to see what’s going on, but with not one but two six-month foetuses swimming inside him, movement is getting more and more difficult. Setting the quilt he’s working on aside, he looks up and sees the Prince of Atlantis buried under a pile of his work.

This is not the first time he doesn’t notice Orm coming in while working on his projects. The reason probably is because perfecting his work requires a lot of attention, but that’s not a reason for him, the Captain of Men-of-War of Atlantis, to let his guard down. Even normal people would have noticed a grown man walking into a quiet room devoid of any other intelligent life forms.

The sight of Murk’s creation nauseates their maker.

The other man is prepared to question why the cabinet is taken over by fabrics of different sorts, however upon seeing his lover’s sick expression he drops the plan.

‘I’m okay, Murk,’ he says as he carefully gets himself out of the mess. ‘Are _you_ all right?’

Murk suddenly doesn’t want to talk right now, so he averts his gaze away from his husband, picks up the quilt and resumes sewing. A sigh, then the sound of fabric being dragged on the floor and footsteps. He’s grateful that Orm does not force him to explain. When he hears his husband clear his throat, the Captain has started sewing a second row, and he already knows that the Prince is staring at him before looking up and discovers that the mess Murk made has been neatly stacked up and arranged according to size and…is that theme? Did he really make so much stuff?

The blond sounds slightly awkward. ’How do you wish to deal with all these?’

A few looks at the half-formed quilt on his lap is followed by a few looks on the works around his husband. The few he’s satisfied with have already been added to dressing gowns or baby clothes for his brother, so the ones Orm is seeing right now are failures.

He wants them gone from his sight.

‘I don’t care.’ He nearly doesn’t realise his deepened voice. ‘Throw them, sell them, burn them; just…don’t let me see them anymore, at least not in this house.’

‘But these are all very well-made.’

‘I’ve already kept the best.’

A pause. Then, ‘What if I like them and want to keep them?’

‘How many?’

‘About - ’ shuffling - ‘six. Four handkerchieves and two shirts.’

‘Then that’s okay.’

‘Are you sure you want to throw the rest away?’

‘Any method which can get rid of them will do.’

‘…Okay.’

Orm doesn’t speak for a while, so Murk continues his work. He doesn’t remember where he got the idea of a quilt from, but he knows that when he’s finished with it, it is going to the stack for his brother; he has no idea if his brother will recover after his baby is delivered, which almost gives him an indefinite amount of time to work on the quilt, but he decides to finish it as soon as possible anyway. The colours he uses are all pastel, soft and pale and easy to the eye; the patterns are simple and random, which he knows his brother prefers. That’s all he can do to comfort himself.

‘Murk?’

‘Yes, Orm?’

‘How about auctioning them off?’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I take that as a yes, then. Where do you want the money to go to?’

Murk thinks for a moment. ‘Atlantis Veterans’ Association?’

‘Thought so.’

The stacks on the floor are already gone when Murk later decides that he needs a walk.

Murk’s reputation, his status, the quality of his work, the purpose of earnings, all of the above makes the auction a smooth event. Of course, now the whole world knows that the Captain of Men-of-War of Atlantis excels at not only martial arts and battle tactics but also more…domestic tasks. The Captain himself claims that he doesn’t care about his image anymore, all while sewing a giant quilt on his lap.

* * *

<Travelling>

Murk receives the news of his brother delivering his baby two weeks after he has started working on the quilt, and that he is recovering from whatever he had when he’s pregnant.

‘His appetite is back,’ his in-law says through the phone, ‘and much happier too. I believe I have successfully become the third most important person in his life, You come second.’

Murk doesn’t know how to respond to this, so he stays silent and waits for his in-law to continue.

‘He wishes to see his baby brother, too; feels bad for…not being with you, you know, when you’re also…’

‘Pregnant?’

‘He has not heard from you for a long time. Thinks you are sick like him.’

‘Guess he’ll see for himself when I come to visit. What time suits you?’

‘Anytime you like will do. Just come as soon as possible, or Fung-gy might get sick again from missing you.’

Fung-gy. That’s his in-law’s nickname for his brother. Orm never has one for him.

‘Okay,’ he replies softly.

‘See you soon, Murk.’

‘Me too.’

The call ends. Murk sighs, takes off the headset, and disappears under the giant quilt his brother made him some years back. He finished the quilt for Fung two days ago, so to kill time he starts sewing again. All went well for a moment until this morning when he found himself unable to hold anything still. A needle trembles over what will be his daughters’ clothes, his food hovers above his plate, his hand twitches on his lap. To make things worse, Orm has urgent work and won’t be back until very late and can’t risk being distracted, therefore lounging around in his office is out of the question.

He’s happy for his brother but is sad for himself.

So he sleeps. Dreams of Orm being with him. Wakes up to find Orm not there. Sleeps again. Waken up by the call from his in-law. At first he wants to continue sleeping, but the babies within him seem to have another idea, kicking and twisting against the walls of his body as if they don’t have enough space. Perhaps they don’t, but not like he can do anything about it, can he?

His phone buzzes with a message from Becky, telling him that she’s ready for a session. Glad that he can at least be distracted for the next two hours, Murk fishes his glasses out from the drawers and puts them on.

Orm just spent a very stressful day avoiding other people in every single way. First there’s his half-blood brother, who does not understand half the problems the Prince has with their mother because 1) Arthur is not the one she rejects as King. 2) she approves of his spousal choice but not Orm’s. 3) the current King of Atlantis is not the one dealing with a very unreasonably pissed ex-Queen. 4) the half-blood does not have a vizier to looks as if he wants to sabotage him in every possible way. In Orm’s lowly opinion, Murk’s occupation is the least he is worried about. And what can she do anyway, now that she’s - fuck it - retired?

That is why he told his husband that he would be busy for the entire day: constant harassment from different people. Atlanna somehow got hold of Orm’s private number, and her calls never quite stopped. Block one and she will use another number. Finally he gets tired of the game and answers a call, beginning the most agonising two hours in his life. It is not something he wishes to recall, but a migraine has developed at the back of his head, seemingly reminding him of what he has done to his own mother.

She fucking fell in love with a surface dweller after spending like…a month? with him. What can she say about loving a man who has been at her son’s side for nearly a decade?

Orm decides, not three minutes after the call, that he and Murk needs to get out of the place to somewhere where Atlanna does not hold power over and dares not invade, because although it will take some work and that will probably buy the two of them a few days of time, she will certainly visit Atlantis again, and the last thing Murk needs right now is more pressure. Meeting a mother-in-law for the first time will only add more to it, therefore not a smart move. He slips away from his office without notifying others of his true intentions.

He goes home to see a giant quilt in the middle of his bed, the lump on it vaguely shaped like a pregnant person. At first he thinks his Captain is asleep, but then the lump moves as he sits down, and with a few wriggles a platinum-blond mop of hair appears, contrasting starkly with the dark blue covers. Blue eyes blink sleepily and do not open completely until a few sluggish rubs from a knuckle.

‘Time?’ the pregnant man asks as he stretches like - what is that surface animal again? - a cat.

They have a clock on one of the bedside tables, and a glance at it gives Orm an answer.

‘One-six-hundred (1),’ he lies down next to his husband on top of the quilt but not going in because he tried that a few days ago, and it is hot inside. It is nothing compared to hanging centimetres away from boiling lava, but that was only a few seconds; this time, it is hours and hours with a body sticking to him like a leech. He never thought that feeling himself sweat underwater was possible until then.

Murk holds his hand and rubs his heavily swollen belly with the other. Remember him not looking pregnant at all at four months? It seemed that his body finally realised a month ago (which was five months into his pregnancy) that the foetuses need more space, and his current size is one comparable to a person pregnant with one baby in their ninth month. ‘At least they don’t compress other organs anymore,’ the Prince remembers his Captain saying, ‘but the back pains are a pain in the butt.’

‘Early?’ current-Murk asks.

He sounds slightly like a child (2), which means that he has not fully awakened yet. It is one of the most endearing aspects that Orm cannot resist, and as usual he fails to control himself and kisses the tip of his husband’s nose. ‘You are more important than work.’

That brings a frown to the Captain’s face. ‘You said it was urgent.’

‘They have been finished. And,’ he hastily adds when he sees Murk starts to fall asleep again, ‘my mother is going to visit Atlantis. We need to get away to somewhere she cannot reach.’

‘Is my brother’s okay?’ Murk wriggles closer. ‘He wants to see me. We can see the baby too. He gave birth to it a week ago though C-section and returned home two days ago. We can visit them, you know, give them presents, play with the baby, tell my brother not to worry about me. Is this…’ catching Orm’s expression, his voice quivers, ‘okay?’

‘Is your in-law in a good relationship with my mother?’

‘Thaumas - that’s his name - is neutral with nearly everyone. He’s protective of me and Fung, so if I say no he’ll say that too. Especially after we tell him what she’ll do. He won’t let anyone cause trouble in his house, not now. Wait, not house. What’s that word? Yes, manor. He won’t let her in. Will blast her straight back to the capital if necessary.’

‘Is that an exaggeration?’

‘No. And if he doesn’t, that will mean brother will do it himself.’

It is only half an hour later when they find themselves in an outbound train to the town where Thaumas live; Orm packed (‘Don’t forget the things for Fung!’), Murk bought their tickets (‘Worry not about money. Your comfort is more important.’). Initially the Prince was worried that his husband would save as much as possible, but here they are, sitting next to each other in a first class compartment with their three bags of luggage at the opposite side, the largest which contains everything Murk has made for his brother. ’Most of it is the quilt,’ the Captain answered when questioned by Orm back in their house. ‘It’s as large and as thick as the one I have. This is its smallest form. I tried.’

Needless to say, that made the Prince respect his husband even more.

The Captain spends the first moments of the journey looking outside, and Orm finds himself observing how different his husband looks under multi-coloured lights, which is even more relaxed than when they were at home. Large, bright eyes, their corners slightly crinkled, lips upturned unconsciously into a small smile, head leant against the windows; a hand held in his, the other placed on his bump, the thumb drawing circles on it as the skin flutters from their daughters’ kicks.

The train passes through the entrance of the capital and speeds up as it breaks away from the traffic. Three more hours to go until they arrive at their destination.

Murk does not complain when the Prince rests his head on his shoulder, instead turning to smile at him, one which widens as Orm returns it. A kiss on a blond mop of hair, then he turns back to the scene beyond the glass.

He has no idea what happens next as he has been lulled into a light doze by the motion of the train. ‘“Light doze” my arse,’ the Captain will say as Orm finally wakes up three minutes before they need to get off. ‘I even ate dinner sitting right here, and now I can’t feel my arm. No,’ no, Orm is definitely _not_ pouting, ‘I didn’t leave any for you. Go raid Thaumas’ kitchen later if you want to.’

That is why Orm Marius, Prince of Atlantis, former Ocean Master, former King of Atlantis, is seen carrying three bags of luggage: he is a good husband, and no way will he fail the love of his life once more.

(1) I have a feeling that both Orm and Murk are used to military time stamps, so here, 1600 means 4 p.m.

(2) I don’t quite know if there’s a word for it in English, but in Chinese we have this…adjective? noun? which basically means ‘an adult’s accent which retains some qualities of one that of a child’s’. Basically this Murk speaks like Peppa Pig but of course much faster and with more complex vocabulary.

* * *

<Big baby, new baby, yet-to-be-born babies>

The town where Thaumas’ manor is located is a small one, therefore it is no surprise that it only has one train station, if it can be called one; with just enough space between two narrow strips of platform for two normal trains to make a stop at the same time (this never happened although the station is older than Thaumas, Fung, Murk, and Orm combined, and the first person on the list is not exactly young), it is nothing compared to the ones near the edge of the capital, but not like there is much traffic going on anyway. If the Prince and his consort had not boarded the train and/or no one is getting on, the station would have been skipped directly.

There is one advantage about mini-stations, however, and that is people are not required to navigate the place for half an hour to get out of it. Here, simply walk to one end of the platform and the road is there, and in their case so is Thaumas and his ship. He beams as he sees his in-laws, greeting them warmly (a tight hug from the side for Murk and a firm handshake for Orm, much to the latter’s disgruntlement) and helping Orm with hauling his luggage into the ship. He manages to look younger even after a few months of taking care of a sick, pregnant man single-handedly.

Last time they saw one another was at Orm and Murk’s wedding, the Captain’s brother and the Lord among the few invited to witness it. Fung, ten years older than Murk and is nearly twenty years younger than his husband, was three months pregnant at that time, the first child he had had after spending thirty-six years on this planet and thirteen married to the man he loves. He already looked pale then, frequently leaving the group to get himself some fresh water with a pair of wobbly legs, and once emptying all he had consumed in the toilet. Thaumas was a constant presence by his side. The conversations he had with the newlyweds were focused solely on Fung, which the two never hold him accountable for, although he apologised a week later, when his husband, finally, _finally_ fell into an uneasy slumber, exhausted from being sick all the time and the overwhelming magnified sensations.

Now that the baby has been born, it is even more impossible for him to stop talking about the newest addition to his family.

‘Of course I have pictures, one of them is my phone’s wallpaper,’ he waves the said piece of technology with the back towards his in-laws, ‘but I will not spoil it for you. She is the most adorable - wait, no, she is the second, no one can replace Fung-gy - person in the world. You should - oh.’

He finally stops when he catches sight of his lightly-snoring brother-in-law in the rear-view mirror, who has already been asleep for a long time. Orm gives him a half-hearted glare and raises a finger to his lips.

‘Right, no disturbing mama.’

Although Thaumas’ voice is barely a whisper, the Prince still wants to kick the back of his seat. He tells himself that he will find a chance to do so.

Murk slowly wakes up with his head on top of what he later identifies as his husband’s chest, the first thing he notices being the lack of movement, and the second being him lying down on something soft, presumably a mattress with its sheets on, instead of sitting in a car seat. Then a familiar smell hits his nose, one which prompts his brain - terribly slowed-down by his pregnancy - to at last connect the dots and identifies his surroundings in two words as _his room_ , the room he has had since his teenage years.

The trembling of his temporary pillow forces him to sit up, an action getting more and more difficult as he expands to give more space to his daughters.

Orm is _laughing_ at him. He actually has the guts to do it in front of a grumpy, pregnant man who has _just_ woken up.

‘Your face,’ the Prince utters between breaths. ‘You look so confused.’

‘You are the worst husband in the world, Orm.’ A ‘thunk’ of a pillow right on the blond’s face. Sucks to be him, Murk guesses. ‘Now would you please allow me to see my brother, that will perhaps repent your sins.’

His anger has mostly dissipated by the time he reaches the room he remembers to be Fung and Thaumas’ bedroom. Under normal circumstances he would have barged in, but considering that his brother’s condition only improved a few days ago, he knocks.

‘Come in.’

Two words from an overly-soft voice is enough to make the Captain of Men-of-War of Atlantis lose control over himself as he twists the doorknob and barely refrains from swinging open the door. There his brother is, propped up by a pile of pillows in the middle of a large bed, a swaddled baby in his arm which is supported by another pillow on his lap, and a bottle of milk in the other. Most of his body is either hidden by the blanket or his nightdress, but his hands are thin and weak, his cheeks are sunken, his back is hunched and unable to support his own weight, and his red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes have deeps bags underneath them. His dress, which is supposed to be loose, now seems to hang on a scrawny frame, exposing his collarbones and some of his ribs, all clearly visible against the frightening pallor of his skin. All these are evidence of the torture the man went through for the past nine months.

Fung is a wreck, and the smile on his face can do nothing to improve it. Looking back, Murk thinks he was in such a state of shock that he could only stand at the door and watch his brother take care of his child; the way he tries to support the baby’s head although he obviously doesn’t have enough strength, how he tenderly places - or slides, if he is being honest - it into a padded basket, and how Fung sinks into the pile of pillows behind him with an exhausted sigh. When the older brother finally turns towards the Captain, it is as if a lifetime has passed. Suddenly, Murk has no idea what to do.

‘You should be tired, baby brother,’ Fung’s palms face upwards to invite his younger brother over. ‘Come here. Why are you standing ther-’

Murk knows he shouldn’t have done it, but it is already too late when he feels the prod of bones against his skin. Fung is half a head shorter than his younger brother with a thinner frame and much less physical training, therefore he has always been the smaller and more fragile one among them. Murk dares not hug his brother too tight from the fear of squeezing too hard and actually break his bones. In fact, the Captain has, on one occasion, broken a person’s femur, the strongest bone in his body snapping under his foot, the man screaming in agony until he could not. It took Murk months of therapy and frequent trips back home to recover from the shock.

Then why is Fung not afraid? OK, he supposes he should be the one letting go first, since he is the one in an emotional mess, but he simply can’t bring himself to do so; the skeletal hand combing through his hair, the smell unique to his brother, the soft fabric he twists around his finger, none of these tells him to go away.

‘Shh, don’t cry, don’t cry, I’m okay, you’re okay…’

He did not realise he’s crying until hearing Fung’s words. Loosening his arms but keeping a hand on his elder brother’s waist, Murk falls back slightly to rest against the pile of pillows, Fung keeping their faces close with a hand on the back of his head. A few minutes later Murk is all calmed down, the reason for his outburst all forgotten.

‘Better now?’ Fung asks softly.

A deep breath and a nod.

‘Do you want to see my baby?’

Another nod.

This time, the entire basket is slid onto the Fung’s lap; the Captain considers taking the weight off his brother, but then he catches sight of his nearly non-existent lap, so all he does is concentrate on his sleeping nibling. It is a small one, its eyes tightly shut from, hopefully, sleep, and its face all scrunched up as typical newborns do.

‘It’s cute.’ This is the first description that pops up in Murk’s mind. ‘Does it hurt, giving birth?’ The question comes before he remembers that Fung delivered by C-section.

‘It is more painful when you realise you cannot give the best to her,’ is the elder brother’s answer as his gaze settles on a spot behind Murk, most likely the empty bottle on the nightstand. ’You know how I was. Sick. Weak.’ A hand covers the baby’s torso. ‘Silly me for wanting to deliver her myself when I barely had enough strength to be awake.’

Murk holds his brother’s other hand. It is freezing. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I know. I am just… Have you ever felt afraid all of a sudden, even when you fully understand what happened?’

‘Yes.’

‘I hope you need not go through it, but…’ a sad laugh. ‘Did Thaumas tell you that I fainted shortly after the contractions had begun?’

That grabs the Captain’s attention, and he positions the basket between them and pulls out of the bag the blanket he made, wrapping it around his brother’s shoulders. ‘Yes. You didn’t wake up for a day but wouldn’t let go of your baby after they placed her in your arms.’

‘I was scared for one moment, just one, when I could not feel her inside me anymore. But it disappeared when I saw her. The feeling, I mean. I have my baby.’ Twists the blanket around his finger. ‘Did you make this, Murk? It’s warm.’

‘So are the clothes in-’ indicates the bag - ‘here. Some of them are for you, some are for the baby, a couple for Thaumas. I have no idea if they’re comfortable or not, so… promise me not to force yourself, okay?’

‘Of course, Murk.’

‘Brother?’

‘Yes, Murk?’

‘Does the baby have a name yet?’

‘…Oh no. Goodness, we forgot to name our baby, oh my-’

‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ It is Murk’s turn to comfort his brother before the latter spirals into anxiety. ‘The two of you didn’t really have the heart to discuss this, did you? You can think of one now, and we can tell Thaumas later. Any ideas?’

A few seconds of silence. ‘Not…exactly,’ is the hesitant reply. ‘Do you?’

The Captain runs through the list of remarkable people in his life and finds nothing suitable. Then the list of all remarkable people he remembers, yet it still yields no result. ‘It will seem that we have inherited our parents’ level of naming children.’

Both of them laugh together, albeit weakly, at this old joke. One day, a few years before Fung brought Murk with him to Thaumas’, the elder brother plucked up his courage to ask their parents what exactly his name meant; Murk had looked himself up long ago and…well, at least he got an answer on his own. He watched his brother storm into his bedroom with an expression torn between hysterical laughter and anger, and later, when Fung finally calmed down, the younger brother would learn that Fung means ‘wind’, a natural phenomenon, in a language from the surface.

‘But what is “wind”?’ Murk asked further.

‘Current of air strong enough to be felt.’

‘Air? I thought we can’t breathe it?’

‘Exactly! Gods, this is ridiculous.’ Fung kneaded his younger brother’s cheek that was still puffy from baby fat and squished their nose together. ‘Who knows Murk, darkness, thick clouds preventing someone from seeing clearly, is actually the most adorable cutie in the world? And me,’ he bounced back onto Murk’s bed, ‘named after something we can never feel. Technically we can, but not without suffocating.’

It was such a shame that Murk couldn’t feel anything during his near-death experience on the surface.

‘We can still-’ Murk covers his mouth as he yawns - ‘ask Thaumas or Orm about it. Probably Thaumas, since he’s your husband.’

‘I think so, too.’

The Captain does not open his eyes afterwards, having fallen straight into sleep. His brother follows shortly later.

* * *

<The past>

‘Murk, may I ask you something?’

It is only the second night they spend in Thaumas’ manor, yet it is enough to put many questions in Orm’s mind. From the armchair he occupies, the Prince watches Murk look up from the tablet he is reading from, put it to sleep and give his husband his full attention. Sitting on their bed with the blanket from Fung covering his legs, the Captain cannot look cosier, and Orm hates himself for breaking it. But no, he does not have a choice; better for these questions to be answered.

‘Yes, Orm?’

‘Exactly what kind of relationship is between you and Thaumas?’

‘We’re in-laws?’ there is only confusion on Murk’s scarred face. OK, he may need to reword the question.

‘How close are you?’

‘Why ask?’

He greeted you with hugs while normal in-laws shake hands. You slept in his bed, forcing him to use one of the guest rooms and leave his husband who had just given birth not long ago and is likely still sick, and he didn’t say a word, not a single complaint. You have your own room in his manor, and what did he mean by ‘Your room is exactly how you left it’?

It was he whom I asked for permission to marry you. He and your brother were seated at where your parents should be at our wedding.

But all he says is, ‘The two of you seem closer than most in-laws despite the age difference.’

‘It’s hard not to be.’

‘What do you mean?’

A sigh. Stretches arms out. ’Come here. Please. I need you to be holding me for this answer.’

It will be cruel not to comply, therefore Orm climbs into the bed while Murk lies down on his side and spoons his Captain from behind, placing a hand on his rounded stomach to feel their daughters.

Another sigh from Murk. ‘I suppose I should start from the beginning.’

There is a reason why he never seems to talk about his parents. They are, in simple terms, super rich but powerless, and to them their children were simply tools to advance in the social ladder, by marrying them off as consorts to nobles. As a result, Fung and Murk suffered from the harshest education their parents could find under all aspects, ranging from academics to basic speech and manners; the brothers’ skill and hate in sewing originated from here. Murk fared slightly better because he had Fung protecting him as much as possible, but he still endured thirteen unhappy years in his biological parents’ household while plotting to escape their clutches.

Enter Thaumas when Murk was ten. The Captain is uncertain how his brother and the, at that time, middle-aged noble met, but they had already been dating for a few months when Fung told him. Shortly afterwards Fung managed to drag Murk to meet his boyfriend. The stranger whom his brother was completely head over heels about is old enough to be his father, is a high-born, was rich (still is), had those thick, white beard and moustache worn by people seen in history books (still has them), and, most off all, was everything Fung had sworn NOT to marry when both of them had been younger, therefore it was no surprise that Murk was very confused at first; love without condition between two adults was something the eleven-year-old could not imagine. Murk was, however, a quick learner, and after a few carefully-arranged and spread-out meetings he had arrived at a conclusion: Thaumas had a lot of money, but he had even more love towards his elder brother and him.

That did not mean that Fung could for once be honest to his parents. About two years after their relationship had begun, he revealed that he and Thaumas were engaged, and although initially the couple responsible for his existence was thrilled by the fact that their eldest was going to be married to a noble, their attitude changed upon realising the reality of Thaumas being a simple Lord owning a small town. Whose position was not high enough for their taste. A quarrel ensued, ended when Fung stormed out of the house, and at midnight Murk received a call telling him he had a choice to make: to stay with his parents or to live with his brother at Thaumas’ town.

Murk immediately packed up.

‘I was thirteen. Brother had just graduated, but the two of them had been preparing for the wedding for months. Thaumas started a lawsuit for my guardianship right afterwards. He won. Raised me from then on with brother, you know, paying for school, taking me on holidays, supporting me to join the army. He’s more like a father to me, a father I never knew I could have. That’s why I told you to ask for his permission to marry me.

‘I…I cut contact with my parents from then on. No point talking with them. Haven’t for more than a decade. Last time I heard of them was when one of them went to jail. Never visited them. They never asked to see me either, so I think that says a lot about how important Fung and I are to them.

‘But it’s ironic, isn’t it?’ a weak chuckle. ‘We used to hate the idea of marrying to high-borns so much, look at us now. Fung’s married to Lord Thaumas for thirteen years. I joined the military and ended up falling in love with and marrying the Prince of Atlantis.’ Wipes away tears that the ocean isn’t quick enough to carry away. ‘Best thing ever happened to me.’

The silent listener tightens his arms around his husband and buries his face at the crook of the latter’s neck. ‘Me too. I am sorry. I should not have doubted you.’

‘No. I should have told you earlier.’

‘As if this is something easy to talk about.’

‘…’

‘Murk?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I am glad you have them.’

A sigh from the pregnant man. Turning around so that they are lying face to face and taking the Prince’s face in his hands, he leans forward to exchange a slow kiss which brings a sense of calm to them.

‘I am glad to have you too.’

* * *

<Discomfort>

A week-long visit turned to an indefinite stay when the ex-Queen refuses to leave Atlantis until she got what she wanted, that is meeting her son and his consort. Knowing Atlanna’s opinion on the love of his life, Orm replied that they would not meet until she had sworn on River Styx that she would treat Murk with respect, therefore when she answered that she would never make such promises and would continue her stay in the capital, the couple immediately decided that they should stay at Thaumas’. The Lord agreed without second thoughts and has barred Atlanna from entering _his_ town. A few days later a ship appeared at his door, and it turned out to be Becky shipping more than a few items she thought the Captain and his husband needed. Including his sword and Orm’s trident plus a few sniper guns. ‘For your safety,’ the young woman said, ‘but I do hope there is no need to use them.’

Both Orm and Murk have no idea how she got all the stuff she brought, however they have also decided not to ask.

It has been a month since Thaumas’ manor became their temporary home. Fung is stronger now, his appetite back, tires less easily, and does not feel dizzy every five steps he takes. His daughter, finally named Iris by her father after a quick research, is quickly becoming the most adorable baby in the world, although Orm suspects that it will only last until his twins arrive. Orm himself has taken time off work and thus can concentrate on taking care of Murk.

The Prince remembers what his older in-law told him about two weeks into their stay. At that time the five of them were chilling out in the drawing room, the brothers doting on the small baby on the sofa and unconsciously creating the warmest image Orm has ever seen, and he finds the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. Little Iris gurgled in her mother’s arms from a kiss on her cheek; out of the corner of his sight, the Prince saw her father slowly stand up with an unreadable expression and exited the room unnoticed by his husband or Murk.

Orm followed him.

He caught the Lord on a balcony overlooking the wild, gaze cold and hands trembling on the stone railing. Inhaled a few deep breaths of water, forced fists to relax, stepped away from the edge. Caught sight of the Prince. ‘Shouldn’t you be staying with Murk?’

‘I do believe they will be all right on their own,’ Orm poured as much sincerity into his voice as he could, ‘but you? Are you all right?’

‘I…’ a deep breath. Both men stared at the view unseeing. ‘Do not get me wrong, Orm. I love them. My husband and our daughter and Murk and…and you, too.’

He stopped here as if waiting for confirmation, therefore the Prince replied, ‘I know.’

‘But sometimes, when I see Fung-gy devoting himself to Iris-’ a pause - ‘I wonder if she knows what she did to him. The pain he went through. How much he sacrificed for her. This is probably my first advice to you - touch wood - try to forgive your children and not to blame them for what they have done to Murk.’

At that time, Orm thought Thaumas was simply overthinking, therefore of course reality slaps him in his face not a month later.

‘Orm?’

Murk’s weak voice brings the Prince back to reality. Opening his eyes, Orm untangles their limbs and sits up on the bed, gazing from above his husband, whose eyes are mostly closed despite having slept for - a glance at the clock - four hours. His chest, swollen with milk, heaves heavily and irregularly from slow inhales but fast, almost hasty, exhales, as if he cannot keep his breath in. He is frowning, so he must be in some type of pain. Probably his back.

‘I’m here.’

‘Can you help me sit up?’

Orm bends down to allow Murk to wrap his arms around his shoulders. With a hand behind his head and the other on the lower half of his spine, the Prince pulls himself straight, bringing Murk with him, and then slowly guides him to lean against the cushioned headboard. The Captain is hunched forward with his hands supporting the massive weight in his stomach. His husband settles down next to him and rubs circles on his back, trying to soothe his pain as much as he can. Somehow Murk’s breathing stabilises, and though he looks at Orm as if wanting to tell him something, his red-rimmed eyes are telltale signs that he cannot.

Orm places his hand on the bump and kisses his forehead. ’Anything I can do for you?’

The pregnant man shakes his head, but a few seconds afterwards and says, ‘Socks.’

The Prince is sure that the smile he tries to make turns out to be a grimace. He keeps his eyes on Murk while he retrieves the thickest pair of socks he can find in the closet, and he watches as his husband’s eyes slip shut again. Three more weeks, he tells himself; three more weeks until Murk’s estimated delivery date. Murk will recover from this three weeks later, and if it takes longer than they all expect, Orm will make time.

The Captain does not seem to notice the dip of the bed, but the Prince gets a sigh as he carefully holds a swollen foot in his hands and glides a sock over stretched skin.

‘Done.’ Looks up to find Murk’s head lolling to a side and rights it. Eyes still not open. ’Anything else?’

Shakes head. ‘Nothing you can do about this.’

‘Tell me.’

Murk only takes Orm’s hand and puts it on his breast. Before he speaks, the hardness underneath his hand already told the blond everything. ‘It hurts,’ he whimpers. ‘Swells.’

The Captain once described his body as ‘the most annoying deadline fighter’, and the Prince must agree with him on this matter. First was the swell of his stomach in one month, then, in the eighth month of the pregnancy, his breasts started producing milk and have not stopped since. The few plans they carried out to reduce the flow failed. Waking up in the middle of the night from heavily swollen breasts, wearing nursing pads under brassiere, pumping the milk away and can do nothing but discarding it, these have become normal in their lives. For the same reason Murk is looking forward very much to the day he needs to feed two babies - so that what he makes does not go to waste.

Now he can’t even raise his arms when Orm begins taking off his pyjama shirt.

<Birth>

Being the Captain of Men-of-War of Atlantis, Murk experienced a lot of pain. The pain of shrapnel piercing his skull, leaving two huge scars on his face. The pain from a hand cut off by Princess Mera even though it was no longer attached to his arm; the same went for regrowing the hand.

They are nothing compared to what he is feeling. First was the contractions - of course they started just as he nearly fell asleep, what else did he expect? They lasted only for three hours, therefore it was no surprise when it burnt like the very fire of Tartarus as the first baby’s head stretched her exit to its limits. He will apologise later to Orm for nearly breaking his hand from squeezing it too tightly.

At this moment, he settles on screaming his lungs off as he tries to push her shoulders out. Two shoulders, two pushes, it is surprisingly simple, and the baby - his first child, his first daughter - is out, wailing and struggling in her father’s arms far more livelily than everyone’s expectation. One out, one more to go. Through the fog in his mind, he feels more than sees the cleaned baby being placed on his bare chest. She is large compared to Iris, her tiny hands clutched into fists and eyes shut tight, and a name surfaces in front of his eyes.

‘Medusa,’ he says. The next moment a contraction hits, and the baby is whisked away.

What feels like a lifetime later the second child is born. The Captain watches as the midwife cut the cord and wipes her clean with a towel, his hands already raised in anticipation before he starts lowering her into his arms. The water around her moves differently and does not follow the general flow. ‘Ogena,’ because he swears it is she who causes the disturbance.

But pushing herself up using the current and latching onto his nipple all on her own? That is completely out of his expectation.

‘Ow.’ He is too exhausted to give a more dramatic response.

Orm puts Medusa down on the other side, and even she starts nursing right away. There is nothing their fathers can do apart from watching them have their first meal.

‘Medusa and Ogena?’ the Prince asks when he tears his eyes away from his newborn daughters and turns his attention towards his husband. ‘Why?’

Murk’s eye-rolling becomes closing his eyes. ‘Let me sleep.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

The Captain does not reply.


End file.
